Guardians of the Light
by jbstargazer17
Summary: The Shroud of the Dark Side has fallen. War rages. The Light falters. Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One, falls deeper and deeper into the Dark Lord of the Sith's trap. But what if Palpatine, in his pride and power, made one fatal error...
1. Chapter 1

_A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…_

The Light was fading.

The galaxy was mired in civil war, locked in bloody conflict. The Republic teetered on the brink of collapse. Hundreds of systems of planets had formed a alliance known as the Separatists. The Trade Federation, the Banking Clan, The Commerce Guild, the Corporate Alliance, the InterGalactic Banking Clan and so many, many others turned from the Republic that birthed and built them and signed a treaty rooted in greed and lust for power. Of course these worlds would be strong, influential, and above all, wealthy. And using this power, the Separatists created a vast, ruthless droid army. Their leader? Count Dooku, fallen Jedi. Their goal? Total and utter annihilation of the life all loyalists to the Republic, servants and members and states people alike, held dear.

Nightfall was approaching.

For generation upon generation, the Order of the Jedi had defended the Republic. Wielders of the mysterious Force, the Jedi remained unmatched in their power to serve and protect. Whenever a crisis arose, whether it was delicate negotiations, natural disasters, or worlds on the brink of war, the Senate dispatched the Jedi to work their seemingly ceaseless wonders. Upon the joining of the Separatists leaders and the treachery of Count Dooku, however, the peacekeepers transformed into warriors and generals. The Jedi courageously fought on the frontlines, leading the Republic's Clone army into battle after battle.

Shadows were forming.

Of course, in truth, the opposing sides of the iron bar of warfare, the Separatists and the Republic, droid army verses Clones, the good guys and the bad guys- this was all merely a shadow. Symbols, reflecting where the true battle lay.

Darkness was descending.

After a thousand years of watching and waiting, of planning and prowling, of murder and manipulation- the Sith were finally ready to move. To abandon self-imposed exile and seize self-proclaimed power. To take back a bloody, divided galaxy once again. The blood and division were the tools. Separatists and Loyalists, droids and Clones, Jedi and Sith, the pawns. For the Darkness was not just descending.

The Darkness was Here.

For no Separatist nor Loyalist, nor Clone- and especially no Jedi- could ever imagine the iron bar of warfare bound them together, but did not conclude with them. Rather, both end bases drew upward through ranks and regimes, loyalties and commands… until two joined together as one. Sitting at the top of this pyramid of horror lounged the Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, gentle man, humble politician, dedicated servant of the Republic, and friend to all …lesser well known as Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Sidious.

The Shroud of the Dark Side truly and completely obscured the Light. The countless deaths, the blood, the pain, the sacrifice so many had given for their beloved Republic counted for naught: for the trusted leader of the Republic also lead their enemy. The Jedi fought and bleed and died not for peace and justice: but so their sworn enemy could slowly and steadily gain the power and control to destroy them.

The Sith had all but won. Palpatine had only to wait and watch as the Jedi and the Republic alike slowly destroy themselves defending what they had already lost.

This truly was the Hour of Darkness.

So, what truly sane, sentient being would ever have guessed that the turning point in defeating the malevolent, increasingly oppressive shroud of the Dark Side, the key to the final downfall of the Order of the Sith Lords, the shatterpoint in ending over a thousand years of struggle between Dark and Light…was a cup of jama juice?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer- If I owned Star Wars, ROTS would have ended a lot differently.

A/N- At the bottom.

The prickle of warning came just after the conference with the Security Council ended.

Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, known as Darth Sidious only by his more…suspect acquaintances, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply as the last of the Committee filed out. A rare headache was brewing in the base of his scull.

The incontinent trumping in his cranium was not a result of any unseemly tears or rips in his masterfully spun web of lies and deceit. In fact, Palpatine thought, a flicker of satisfaction overriding his headache, things were chugging along quite nicely.

His convenient cronies continued to reek havoc in the Outer Rim. The sickeningly sanctimonious Jedi steadily stretched themselves beyond their limits of endurance. The Galactic Congress graciously granted extended emergency powers to their genial Chancellor. And, most important of all, emotions in the Republic persistently bubbled and brewed.

Oh, the Dark Side was a wonderful thing indeed!

Palpatine stood and strolled over to the clear, transparisteel window in his office. The generously-proportioned pane provided a sweeping view of the upper levels of Corusent, the Galactic City. The mid-afternoon sun glinted off the Republic Executive Building. Everything from official transport shuttles to flamboyant race speeders rushed though the traffic lanes. Beneath the stately buildings and dignified landscape, however, the Dark Side continued to creep, crawl, and conquer.

Fear of losing the war…fury at the Seperatists for instigating it, and mounting anger at the Jedi for not quickly ending it…distrust of former friends and acquaintances…paranoia…pain…resentment… rage…and compromise.

Yes, the Chancellor thought, clasping his arms behind him, his web continued to spread very nicely indeed.

That didn't change the fact that a band of Weequay Thunder drums were happily pounding away in his cranium.

Palpatine signed. Even a Sith's reserves of strength and fortitude were not inexhaustible. It was no small wonder he was tired and perhaps a tad stressed. After all, dancing the delicate tango of directing both sides of an intergalactic war was not exactly what _he_ would call easy.

Most of his days were consumed with directing the little moments of _other_ being's days. Moments of pain, moments of crisis, moments of victory…all expected their brilliant, kindly, compassionate Chancellor to either share in them, weep with them, or fix them depending on the situation.

They never dreamed he would also manipulate them.

And yet that remained his primary function in this farce of a war. Taking situations and molding them to his own devices. Using unsuspecting, spoiled senators to push his agenda further and further along.

If he had not come along, someone else would have waltzed up and taken over.

The fools truly were asking for…nay, begging for it to happen. The core beliefs of the Republic-in equality, in truth, in democracy, in justice, in the _Senate_- had slowly but surely been eroded away over the years, leaving cynicism, apathy, and arrogant entitlement behind.

Fertile ground.

Not that every public servant was a conniving narcissist, however. Many of the Loyalists fought heart and soul for their faltering Republic. Bail Organa for one. Mon Mothma and Padme Amidala as well.

Palpatine chuckled darkly. Oh, those dear, dedicated fools. So utterly besotted with their beloved Chancellar.

Thinking back, Palpatine remembered the pervious meeting with the Security Council. Discussion about the new security measures. A heated debate had broken out regarding the passing of the bill. Palpatine smoothly worked his magic, soothing ruffled feathers.

"Do not fret, my friends." Palpatine smiled warmly at the group of frazzled legislators. His eyes radiated calm, just enough resolved strength. "Working together, we will see this bill passed." Pursed lips, betraying resignation. "If necessary, I must place these new measures under the terms of martial law by the Emergency Powers Act."

Grim looks passed from senator to senator. "Forgive me, but is that wise Chancellar?" Mon Mothma questioned, her cultured voice soft but steady. The stately Senator lifted her head, auburn hair swept back. "With the recent attacks, the citizens of every star system remain uneasy. Imposed security will only heighten disquiet."

Inwardly, Palpatine studied the Chandrilian Senator. Dressed in simple, white sari, she meet his eyes calmly. Intelligent and dedicated, the women wore elegance like some wore jewelry. Despite proving on several occasions to be unseemly observant and forthright, he rather favored Mothma.

Or, he'd take her over some sleazy, flattering dunce, at any rate.

Outwardly, the Chancellar merely smiled sadly and replied, "All the more reason to push the bill, milady. While I agree the measure is…saddening, it is also necessary. No one longs for the day the Emergency Powers Act is null and void more that I. That I assure you. In the mean time, we must do what is best for the Republic."

Bail Orgeana's tension, obvious despite impeccable manners, eased. He leaned forward, hands clasped. "We need you Chancellar. More than ever. You're the only one strong enough to hold us together through this."

The other senators voiced their agreement without reservation. And Palpatine smiled abashedly, murmured his disagreement, and praised the Loyalist's efforts toward peace and posterity to the Corillian moons. And inwardly laughed and laughed and laughed.

Most of the time he relished moments like that. He enjoyed gazing into loyal, idealistic eyes and knowing he commanded the movement they so longed to obliterate. There was something so poetic about watching people unwittingly kill what they loved best. It made him feel powerful. It made him feel invigorated.

And sometimes it made him feel more like a cheche-master than a Lord of the Sith.

It was high time, Palpatine abruptly decided, that he indulged himself. And with that, the Dark Lord of the Sith set himself to preparing a cup of steaming hot tea.

The Chancellor paused in the act of pouring boiling hot water into his cream-white tea cup and frowned. Really, he did not much like the word _indulgence_. That, the older man decided with a scowl, was a word far more appropriately associated with his temporary apprentice, Count Dooku.

Dooku reveled in indulgence. In fact, his love of luxury, his delight in things refined, and most of all, his own foolish pride that had lured the rather aged Jedi to the Dark Side in the first place.

Palpatine stirred in a generous scoop of sugar and cream into his honey brown drink and wandered back to his desk. As he sank into his chair, made of matchless lanthanide alloy, his gaze swept his ceremonial office. The room fairly dripped elegance, style, and careless luxury off the blood-red walls.

It was inconsequential.

The extravagance merely served to enhance his masquerade, build up his character. He would live in a half-frozen space station in the Outer Rim if he must. The Dark Side moved and breathed everywhere.

If Dooku ever found himself in a similar situation, he might just fall on his lightsaver.

His apprentice, Palpatine mused, spend far to much time purchasing expensive ships, selecting matchless tunics, and feeding his already ballooned self-importance and far too little immersed in the Dark Side.

If he had Dooku might have noticed that the Dark Side of the Force breed no sense of loyalty…and the good Count practically oozed expendable.

It remained a constant source of amazement, not to mention amusement, to Palpatine how completely _duped_ his elderly apprentice remained. How utterly deceived. How unequivocally blind. How supremely, stupendously stupid. Blessed spirit of Bane himself, how could Dooku- trained in the Dark Arts!- not see that he served merely as a pawn in this war? That he was already replaced?

But that was the power of pride for you, Palpatine thought with another chuckle. He could slap a Corellian, neon poster sign declaring, **Sidious's Standby for Anakin Skywalker**! on Dooku's forehead, and the esteemed Count would spend the morning preening in his golden-laid mirror, oblivious.

No, Palpatine decided, tapping the silver spoon against his cup and placing it carefully aside, indulgence was not a trait a true Sith developed. Patience, discipline, and self-control characterized faithful followers of the Dark.

Sipping at his blessedly hot drink, Palpatine allowed his mind to drift back toward his endless duties regarding his blossoming empire. A meeting with the Finance Committee in one standard hour… He really needed to put in an appearance with the Senate Committee on Refugees, oh joy…

A whisper of warning hissed to him through the Dark Side, then vanished.

Inner list of responsibilities instantly forgotten, Palpatine sat straight up. The mummer of danger had been faint, far off, but sharp. Urgent.

More to the point, he could already sense it involved his future apprentice, the boy he had been grooming for years and years.

Well, _this_ could not be good.

Palpatine frowned and quickly set his cup aside. Reaching over, the Chancellor tapped his holopad.

A flickering, miniature Mas Amedda appeared. The Champala bowed. "Yes, my lord?"

"See to it that I am not disturbed. For no reason is to enter. Understood?"

Amedda's face remained completely impassive. "Yes, my lord." The hologram died.

Splaying his hands on top of his desk, Palpatine breathed deeply, clearing his mind…and sank down into the shadowy waves of the Dark Side.

Soaking in the intoxicating darkness, Palpatine swam through the sea, drawing on the deep well of fear, anger, pain and hate swirling around him. Stretching out his senses, Palpatine searched for a faint echo of the ripple of warning.

Ah. There.

Palpatine relaxed and let the tide carry him to the source of the danger the Dark Side had seen fit to warn him of. Feeling…groping…almost there…oh.

Breaking the surface with a rush, Palpatine rose from the dark depths and pondered this latest development.

It…was not what he had been expecting.

The Chancellar idly drummed his fingers on his desk, thinking. He had known, of course, that the Council assigned Anakin Skywalker a Padawan. Interestingly enough, his contact originally informed him that his former master, Kenobi, had been the one to request a new apprentice, not Anakin.

That little tidbit had pleased him enormously.

For ten years Palpatine had known Anakin Skywalker; since the boy first arrived on Coreusent, hiding behind Qui-gon Jinn's broad back, staring google-eyed at the towering city he had religiously monitored him, grasping every opportunity to cultivate a rapport with the rumored Chosen One.

The boy was a futile garden, just waiting to be tended.

Still reeling from the loss of his beloved mother and the sudden, violent death of his champion, Master Jinn, Anakin fairly radiated sorrow, pain, and confusion in the aftermath of the Battle of Naboo. The Jedi, calm and serene, would do him no good. Neither the Council nor Anakin's new master would consider comforting the confused boy, at least in the way the boy wanted and expected. The would recite their accursed code and gently insist he move on.

Nevertheless, a void remained in the heart of a little boy that had lost everything in less than a week. Longing for love and support, for attention and affection. Palpatine was more than happy to fill that void.

And so the Chancellor slowly transformed into friend, confidant, counselor, and father-figure.

He knew Anakin Skywalker better than he knew himself. He understood his quick mind, grasped the complexities of his heart. He recognized the boy's weaknesses, and comprehended his strengths.

And knew just how to use them.

And so, when his contact at the Temple informed him of his former master's decision to request another Padawan, Palpatine barely restrained himself from breaking into a rather undignified jig. For one of Anakin's greatest weaknesses was his possessive nature. And one thing Anakin remained _extremely_ possessive of was Obi-Thorn-in-His-Side-Kenobi.

Doubtless, the boy's response to Kenobi's appeal would have strained their relationship. And the Chosen One's resentment and jealousy of the new, unfortunate Padawan, fueled by fear of falling out of his mentor's affection would have driven Anakin further into his, Palpatine's, confidence.

Instead, the Council dumped a young girl on his poor, unsuspecting Anakin.

And now this child…threatened him?

Palpatine leaned back, thinking hard for a moment. Standing, he swept soundlessly into his private office. Shutting himself into the smaller room, the Chancellor sat in front of his supercomputer. The windows remained shuttered in this room to insure maximum privacy.

As he accessed the computer, Palpatine smiled and quickly selected a holofile. If only the Jedi Council could see him now; accessing their most private files, cracking their most secret codes. Force, it would almost be worth it to revel himself right now just to see Mace Windu's face.

Really, he should think about procuring a holocam for that moment…

Yanking himself back to the present moment, Palpatine tapped his screen and pulled up the file he desired. He quickly skimmed though the records, though he already knew them by heart.

Alina Terentia. Twelve standard Coruscanti years of age. Human. From Bakura. Average to high marks in lightsaver classes. Average to high marks in academics. Average to high marks in meditation. In short, average. Good, but not great. In the top, but not at the top.

Why had the Council given _this_ girl to Anakin?

Closing down the holofile, the Chancellor accessed one of the security cameras his contact had secured. He had no need to search for Anakin. He knew exactly where his future apprentice would be.

Flickering and spitting static momentarily, a crystal-clear image of Dex's Dinner suddenly leapt onto his screen. Sitting in a side booth, lounged the targets of his scrutiny.

Red lighting cast eerie, bloody shadows across the Supreme Chancellor's pale face as he leaned forward and studied the two beings, oblivious to his attention.

Anakin Skywalker, clad in his black leather tunic, looked every part the glorified hero the Holonet made him out to be. Prosthetic arm swathed in a black glove, long, curly brown hair swept back, ragged scar standing stark against pale skin, Anakin relaxed, careless of admiring stares, and pointing fingers. The Hero with No Fear.

Palpatine felt a swell of pride, not unlike a father regarding a son. Anakin wore the clock of fame, of illusion so well.

Only Palpatine was privy to the growing, seething darkness underneath.

Not even Kenobi, who knew his former apprentice best really knew how far the darkness reached. All the way back to Tatooine, back to screams of dying Tuskan Radiers, back to blood running on the cold sand. Back to when the Dark truly sank into Anakin's soul.

Speaking of which…Palpatine turned his attention to the object of this venture. Alina Terentia. If Anakin looked bored, his new apprentice looked gripped with tension, ready to bolt. The girl appeared to be sitting on pins and needles.

She was obviously attempting to look as confident as her master. The child's reddish gold hair fell straight to her thin shoulders. The holocam's beamed it's recording so clearly, Palpatine could count the spattering of freckles across her small, oval face. Wearing a traditional cream-colored tunic, lightsaver clipped to her belt, Alina sat tall and straight, trying very hard to look the perfect padawan.

The Lord of the Sith studied the child. She did not look like a threat. Sitting beside The Hero with No Fear, Alina appeared small, uncertain, and almost fragile.

Palpatine ran his hand over his face, warily. His headache was back.

As his target's plates arrived, heaped high with food, Palpatine pondered his next move.

The Dark Side was not a road map, with every path clearly marked, carefully spelled out. He could not direct it. Nor would he, "follow the will of the Force," like the Jedi fools. No, no the Dark Side could only show what might be. The what ifs. The _potential_. Even the Sith rarely read the future. What separated the mediocre from the great Lords was the ability to manipulate the elements to their maximum potential.

So, how to deal with this warning? It had been but a hint. A barely-conceived possibility of danger. A shadow of a shadow of a threat.

Palpatine drummed his fingers, observing Anakin and the girl begin to eat their respective meals.

Perhaps he could arrange an accident of some kind…Ventress remained a fairly consistent covent operative… The child spoke to her master. He shook his head. She cringed.

Grimacing, Palpatine signed. He did not want to divert Ventress from her current mission in the Outer Rim. Perhaps something a little closer to home? Cad Bane certainly relished challenges. He would have to shell out several thousand credits to the dispassionate bounty hunter for this particular challenge of sneaking up on the apprentice and shouting boo, Palpatine thought a tad snidely.

Really, nothing extraordinary marked this child as any threat to him. No outstanding characteristics, no unusual skills. The only thing Alina truly excelled at above all the other students was her history and psychology classes. The barest hint of potential as a tool of the light. For a moment the Dark Lord of the Sith wavered…

Just as the child fumbled with her glass of jama juice and dumped the bright yellow drink all over the front of her tunic.

Several things happened in that moment.

The padawan flushed, embarrassment and pride parading across her face. Her master started, then roared with laughter, sides shaking. The annoyingly informative Dex, complete with dishrag, hurried out, chuckling. Wiping up the girl's mess, the Besalisk whispered something in Alina's ear that caused her to blush further.

And Palpatine did what he had trained his entire life to _not_ do…and dismissed the whisper of warning.

After all, what harm could a child who could not even drink a cup of jama juice properly possibly do to hinder his plan, decades in motion?

And the fate of the galaxy shifted.

The Light was on the move.

A/N- Well, ho! I'm back! OK, so a few things to cover here.

**Original Characters**- OK. **This is not a story about Alina Terentia**! Repeat! **This is not a story about Alina Terentia**! This is a story about the Star Wars universe. It's a story about Light v Dark. It's a story about Anakin and Obi-wan and Padme and lots of other characters. Alina is obviously a very important character. But the story is not **about **her.

**Style**- In my stories, I tend to focus on developing the characters. There is a plotline and action to them. But my main focus in sketching well-rounded characters.

**Updates**- I'm really sorry about this. But updates will be sporadic. Very sporadic. I work full-time and go to school full-time. And I can't come home and write a great chapter after all that in one day. Some people can and more power to them. But I'm just not wired that way. And I'd rather take my time and write a good chapter for you that cram and write a crappy one.

**Constructive Criticism**- Whatever I end up doing with my life, you can be sure it will involve writing. And I want to be good at what I do. I finally worked up the guts to write and post a story. So if I'm not doing something right, or you see a way for me to improve, please let me know. Seriously.

**Reviews**- They are like coffee. They motivate me to get going! Thank you again to everyone who took the time to review!


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